Treasure Map
by belletylers
Summary: "Tony had always considered himself fairly good at finding people who were missing. Especially if those people were Ziva." Tony and Tali go to Paris, searching for Ziva after the events of 13x24.


"Flight ZJ374 to Paris is now boarding."

The declaration came wedged in between its Hebrew and Arabic equivalents, echoing throughout the bustling airport terminal. Tony forced open his heavy-lidded eyes, still filled with sleep at this early hour, and rose from his seat in the boarding lounge by Gate 7, slinging the trusty go-bag over one shoulder and grasping for Tali's tiny hand with the other. He gently swung her into the air off of her seat, and she squealed with delight at the motion.

Tony's solemnity melted away at that wonderful sound. It made his heart full – there were very few things that could do that to him.

"Ready, Tali?" he asked her, bending down a little so she would know the words were meant just for her. "Got Kalev?"

The little girl nodded at both, Kalev tucked soundly under her arm. There was no going _anywhere_ without Kalev; Tony had learned as much from a few near-misses over the past few days.

Tali nodded to both questions and squeezed Kalev tightly with her little fingers.

They joined the queue of chattering tourists and businesspeople, feeling entirely out of place. There were two young people reciting from their Hebrew-French dictionaries directly in front of him. Behind him, a man and a woman, both in suits, discussing something in even-toned, bored-sounding voices. Where the young people moved with jittery excitement and the suit-clad pair moved with something akin to stoic professionalism, Tony moved up the line with purpose. This was no vacation – this was a _mission_.

Different than any other mission he had gone on before, but a mission nonetheless. He had exchanged his SIG and badge for formula and diapers, and a partner for a toddler, but his brain was still in his head. And when it came to solving mysteries, his brain was all he ever really needed. He had always considered himself fairly good at finding people who were missing.

Especially if those people were Ziva.

 _"Out of everyone in the world who could have found me, it had to be you."_

"Shalom," the airline assistant said with a friendly smile when they reached the front of the queue. Tony replied with the same and handed over their tickets, though his accent evidently gave him away. The girl switched to English and bent over to look at Tali adoringly. "She is very sweet! Will there be anything you require for her?"

"No, thank you," Tony answered, running a hand through his hair, which was, he noted, long overdue for a cut. "I think we've got everything we need. I'll keep you posted."

She smiled one last time, scanned their tickets, returned them, and directed them towards the plane's entrance. They moved together through the long corridor and down the aisle of the plane to their seats by a window near the back, the go-bag colliding with the shoulders of many already-seated airline patrons as Tony tried to rear both it and Tali. Tony apologised profusely, though his poor Hebrew didn't make things much better when most of the passengers on the receiving end of the satchel were native speakers.

He would have to make sure he asked Ziva to teach him when he found her.

 _If,_ he reminded himself. _If._ This was a _risky_ plan. And it hinged on exactly three things: a sequence of numbers hidden on the back of a photograph, his gut, and the blatant refusal to accept the situation he had been given.

 _"Rule number three: don't believe what you're told – always double check."_

He stashed the go-bag under Tali's seat and then carefully buckled her into her seatbelt before doing his own. The safety demonstration both came and went, but he barely paid any attention. He'd noted the exits as soon as they'd gotten on board – force of habit.

The aircraft soon began taxiing, slowly crawling along the runway. It had rained overnight, and as the dawn broke over the horizon, the tarmac glittered gold. Where he heard a few other children start crying out at the approach of take-off, Tali laughed wildly. Tony made a face of mock surprise at her and furiously gripped at the arms of his seat.

"You better hold on!" he said. She laughed again, kicking her legs as the wheels lifted and the glittering ground of Tali's homeland fell away beneath them. He delighted in her joy – the little thrill-seeker was most definitely Ziva's daughter. He would have to watch that as she got older, he thought.

Once the seatbelt sign switched off, Tony lifted her onto his lap, where she could see out of his window. She put her tiny hand up against the glass as they climbed above the clouds, all yellow and pink against the pale blue of the early morning.

"What do you think of that, Tali? We're up pretty high, right?" he asked her.

Tali pointed and formed a word that sounded something like 'clouds'. He told her that was right, praised her. She was no conversationalist, not yet, but he didn't mind. He liked to chat to her, and she always listened.

He was transfixed by her – her fascination, her big eyes, a deep

It wasn't until after the complimentary breakfast that he put Tali back in her seat. This plane had those little TVs in the seats, so he put on some animated flick about a farm and three talking cows that go on an adventure. He tried absent-mindedly to follow the plot, though without the sound, he wasn't sure. Tali apparently thought it was hilarious, though. He loved that laugh. He hoped he would always be able to make her laugh.

They were crossing the Mediterranean Sea now, the vast expanse of blue visible through patches of clear sky. He tried watching a movie of his own, but nothing caught his interest for longer than five minutes. He wasn't sure it was the films – he was starting to feel sick with nerves and totally on edge.

Every facet of this plan hinged on luck and fate and hope – none of which he entirely trusted. He didn't know _what_ to feel, what to expect, how to prepare. He felt like he was going in blind and unarmed.

He hadn't told anyone about this – excluding Tali, who was not capable herself of blabbing, so he considered it safe – because he had been worried about what they would say. He had seen the way they had all looked at him in the days following Ziva's death.

 _Alleged_ death.

Okay, so he'd been a total mess. Bloodthirsty and sleep-deprived and furiously in-denial and utterly, utterly heartbroken.

 _"The Damocles went down in a storm, twenty-eighth of May, off the coast of Somalia. There were no survivors."_

The Damocles was child's play compared to this. He felt like someone had ripped out his insides. Torn away half of his very self.

Was he ready to go through it again if he was wrong? Definitely not. Was he willing to take that risk anyway? Hell yes.

 _"If I could drag her back, I'd do it in a heartbeat."_

And he wasn't entirely sure that Gibbs hadn't known when he left just what he was up to. He'd dropped plenty of hints in that last conversation, and something about the way he had said, "Take care of your family" made Tony think that he had gotten them. Ziva _was_ his family. He had said those exact words to Trent Kort right before he had put a bullet in him.

 _"You gotta believe what you gotta believe."_

Gibbs hadn't tried to stop him, either. Tony wasn't sure what to make of that. He had turned to the Gibbs Gut for guidance more times than he could ever count. But Gibbs also wasn't his boss anymore. It was time for his own gut to kick it. His own, hopeful, biased, lovesick gut.

 _"All bets are off."_

This time, for real. He looked over at his daughter, enraptured by the movie, a tiny clone of her mother, complete with Star of David. Who was he kidding? Bets had been off years ago.

He pulled from the inside pocket of his jacket his only lead in this mission. The photograph of he and Ziva in Paris. It wasn't the picture itself that he had been interested in, but the scrawl of numbers on the back.

He'd found it one night after Tali had fallen asleep. She'd been crying, pretty uncontrollably. A side effect of missing her mom so badly. It broke his heart anew each time, left him feeling helplessly inadequate. Pictures of her seemed to soothe the baby girl, and Tony had a few, but this one in particular always worked best. It was the one that Tali was most familiar with, one she had been shown since a very young age, one with warm and familiar faces. Her Ima and Abba.

The exhaustion would always, eventually, win out in her, and she had fallen soundly asleep with the photo frame just inches from her face. When he had been sure she was asleep, he carefully lifted if from the cot and held it in his hands. He hadn't even remembered having had the picture taken until he saw it in Tali's bag. His pictures from Paris had all been of the architecture, the scenery, the landmarks, except for that single shot of Ziva at a magazine stand, looking like an old-timey fashion model, and a beautiful one at that.

 _"I found my favourite picture."_

In the low light, the glow of the lamp had reflected off the glass of the frame, and the photo became hard to see. He squinted, trying to make out their faces. Deciding against it, he turned the frame over in his hands, detached the back and pulled the photo out. Just as he was turning it around, he spotted something. Ziva's handwriting, he was sure. A series of numbers. Twenty-five of them, with a few dashes thrown in for good measure.

What were they doing on the back of this picture? It certainly wasn't for Tali. Had he been meant to find this? Could it be a message meant for him? From Ziva? Was there something he was missing?

 _Come on, DiNozzo,_ he had thought to himself. _It's the fatigue talking._

But the more he had reluctantly allowed himself to think about it, the less this whole thing made sense. Tali and her belongings – packed neatly in a goddamn _go-bag_ – were all perfectly intact. Whether anything else had even survived the fire at all wasn't known to him, but if they hadn't, what were the odds that Tali's bare essentials, had been the sole survivors of the fire? Why was it that nothing had been singed or burned? Why was it that the scarf of Ziva's that he had found in the bag smelled like _Ziva,_ and not like smoke and ash?

And this _picture._ Why have it packed in the first place? Who carries around a framed picture? She had used pictures as clues before, like the one she sent him as a child which led him to her childhood home.

So what did it _mean?_

It wasn't the right amount of numbers to be something like a bank statement or a coordinate or a phone number. He tried applying all the codes he knew of and even some he didn't know of and it came up to nothing. He was up half the night trying to figure it out, criticising himself as the clock ticked over to 3:00 because he didn't even know _when_ Ziva had written this, for Christ's sake. Maybe it was something to do with a serial number from the photo development place. Maybe it hadn't been meant for him.

But why on this picture, of all pictures? Surely it had to mean something. If it was meant for him, he would be able to figure it out. Ziva was only cryptic when she didn't want to be found. If he could solve this, maybe that would mean she _did_ want to be found…which would mean she was _alive._

He noticed an abundance of zeros at the end of the sequence: _"…0800-1800"._

That kind of looked like a time of day. He scanned backwards. _"042616."_ Could that be a date? Could this sequence just be a combination of smaller parts?

April 24th, 2016. 8:00am to 6:00pm.

This picture had been taken outside the café where they had eaten breakfast on their last morning in Paris. X marks the spot.

He had a place, he had a date, and he had a time. He may as well have had a freaking invitation.

 _"I slept well last night. Why, didn't you?"_

"Oh my God." He had pulled out his cell to call McGee or Gibbs, went to call for Senior, but stopped himself at the last second. The phone fell out of his limp fingers onto the countertop. He couldn't have told the others about this. Instead, he booked two plane tickets to Tel Aviv, and then two to Paris. He didn't book return flights.

 _"Count to a million."_

And now, the plane edged closer and closer to the European coast, closer to their destination, and, possibly, hopefully, closer to the love of his life and the mother of his child.

He turned the photo over once more to look back into the smiling faces of his and Ziva's past selves. He adored the picture he had of her back in his apartment from this trip, but he loved this one maybe even more, the two of them together, smiling, lost for just a second in a foreign world with no case, no flying bullets, no team. Just the two of them, and their Vespa, and the cobbled road beneath their feet, and beyond that, who knew. This picture captured the very essence of their separate and collective love for the city itself. Where they had gotten to do the quaintest of things like visit the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and eat real French croissants at a real French café and…and enjoy each other's company. They slept together that night, for the first time in years. It wasn't the sex that made it special, though, it was the intimacy of it all.

In the months that followed her return from Somalia, things between them were rocky at best. Emotionally charged. Electric. They were professional in the office, but being alone together was difficult. He didn't know what to say to her, and she wouldn't know what to respond with if he did. It was such a different dynamic than what he was used to from her, and he had found himself longing at times for the old days of easy back and forth banter, albeit laid thick with sexual tension. They had ended up with the broken pieces of a partnership, and neither of them knew where to start putting things back together. Did she trust him with her life? Of course. Her heart? Not so much. They had broken and bruised each other, and it was time to patch each other up or risk losing each other altogether.

Things slowly started to get better as the weeks went on, as routine found its way back into their lives. They began to feel comfortable around each other again. Get their old groove back. Cases came and went, and there were car rides and coffee runs and trips in the elevator and chasing leads, and increasingly there were more words with which to fill the silence. And then that night, in the most romantic city in the world, with just one bed for two people with a whole lot of open wounds, that was the final touch.

The whole affair was, for the most part, a bit of a blur, now. But he remembered talking with her half the night. He remembered the smell of her hair and the feeling of her bare back pressed against his chest as they slept. He remembered how easy it had been to wake up with her in his arms, and how hard to let go. He remembered how he had expected awkwardness and a mutual agreement to never discuss it again when reality finally sank in, and how he had instead simply been met with a "good morning".

It wasn't some sexually-charged, hot and heavy, end-of-the-world, fling; it was an act of healing. After that, things were better. They started to feel like the old 'them' again, only different – better. Paris paved the way for their re-entry into each other's hearts. Paved the way for them to fall for each other.

Tony cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. He hadn't even noticed the tears until one had fallen right onto the photo. Just then, Tali's movie about cows ended, and she looked up at her dad, and then at the picture.

"Ima," she said softly.

"I know, baby, I know," Tony whispered back, still looking at the picture. It was a favourite trick of hers.

"Abba."

He closed his eyes and put the photo away, safe in his jacket pocket. What if this didn't work? What if he was mistaken and Ziva was really gone? He would just have to go home, back to D.C. with half of himself missing and try to pick up the pieces of his life and raise Tali without a mom.

 _"I'm the wild card. I'm the guy who looks at the reality in front of him and refuses to accept it."_

"Abba," Tali said again, more insistently. He looked over his daughter, who was tugging at her seatbelt. He reached over and unclipped it for her and she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Abba," she said one more time. "Shhh."

Tony wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her tightly. Tali loved to cuddle, snuggling into him on the couch with a movie at night or crying to be picked up if she was upset. But this was different. She was hushing him, her little hand rubbing tiny circles on his back – like what he would do when she cried. Like what Ziva probably did, too. She was comforting him.

He placed a kiss on her temple, her baby-soft curls tickling his cheeks.

God, he loved this little girl. It wasn't easy looking after a toddler on his own – he couldn't imagine how Ziva had done it this long – but the fullness of his heart was reward enough. He had fallen for her the second she had called him Abba, just like _that_. He almost couldn't believe himself, but he was so amazed by her that he had no time to second guess himself.

"Abba loves you, Tali," he whispered in her ear. She hugged him tighter once more before letting go to climb back into her seat. She pointed to the screen and made a general noise of request – she wanted to watch another movie. He smiled, imagining the cinema buff she might one day grow up to be, if he had his way.

He had heard people talk about this feeling of being a parent, but never understood it, never come _close,_ until he experienced it for himself. His whole life had a different meaning, a different purpose.

 _"Your life would've had more meaning if you'd slept with me."_

Evidently, the throwaway comment he had said to Ziva stuck in a box amidst a shower of bullets ten years ago had turned out to be kind of true. The memory of that day made him smile, traumatic as it was, what with the freezing temperatures and the gunshots and the _fire,_ at one point.

Those very early days were something he looked back on partly with amusement and partly with embarrassment. The two of them collectively had had more hot air in them than a goddamned balloon, all sass and innuendo and bravado and just a hint of competitiveness. But he only acted like an ass because he liked her so much. He knew from the second he met her that she intimidated him, and he didn't know what to make of it. She also never bought any of his crap, which kind of threw him off. She loved to wind him up, too, and knew exactly where to push his buttons and when. But she couldn't take what she dished out. The second things strayed into forbidden territory she threw her walls up and prepared to roundhouse kick any and all intruders. It was a long time before their relationship strayed into emotional territory, staying strictly within the boundaries of partners, and occasionally, a fling on a lonely Friday night.

How far they had come since then. It was interesting, though, that they had never truly been able to move on each other, even when they had never really been 'together'. Ships in the night, he thought. Planets orbiting different suns, more like.

 _"We…as in, you and me?"_

He wasn't sure quite when, but somewhere along the line, the others had accepted that Ziva was probably Tony's greatest weak spot. That where Ziva went, Tony would follow. That the two of them were somehow connected. He knew it when they were ready to send him off to Israel at a moment's notice, on the off chance that Ziva had survived. When he had told Gibbs he had to go and Gibbs had simply said, "I know", there was a look in the older man's eyes he scarcely saw: one that said "don't make my mistakes." He had had Jenny, and the two of them had had Paris, once. Had been partners. Lovers. Gibbs had tried to give Tony his chance at what he hadn't gotten to have with his partner. Maybe that had been why he had not tried to stop him from going after her this one last time. Maybe he wanted Tony to try and have what he never did.

If that was true, well, he owed even more to Gibbs than he realised.

But what was that, exactly? What would have happened if Jenny had lived? What would happen now if he was right about Ziva? Could the MCRT expect a 'Happy Holidays' card from the David-DiNozzos this year? What was he even going to say, if he found her? What was he going to say to Tali if he didn't? He had rushed into this so fast, he hadn't thought about it until now.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are beginning our descent into Paris, France. Local time is 9:53am."

It looked like he would not have time now, either.

Tali enjoyed the bumpy descent just as much as she had enjoyed take-off, and he played along with her the whole way down to the ground. The wheels hit the ground, screeching slightly against the tarmac. He pulled Tali's jacket from the go-bag and helped her put it on while the people around them made their way slowly off the plane. As instructed, Tali led the way down the aisle while Tony followed with the bag over his shoulder. He thanked the stewardess and Tali waved before taking Tony's big hand in her little one.

It was wet here, too, the kind of spring rain that comes and goes in between patches of sunshine. One of those patches was now, and the morning sun and fresh air were a welcome change from the stale inside of the plane.

From there, it was all systems go. First, a trip to the bathroom (and a diaper change for Tali) and a bite to eat for them both. He was anxious to get going but his stomach wasn't going to let him get away with not eating right now. It felt painfully empty, and that, combined with the knots of nerves, made him feel pretty uneasy. A cheap burger would do the trick. And some kind of fruit puree for Tali. Thankfully, she ate it without complaint.

Then, to baggage collection. The two of them were sharing Tony's ancient but roomy suitcase that he had gotten for his 18th birthday from his dad. He also picked up Tali's stroller from the carousel, which had been too big for carry-on luggage. Other luxuries like a cot (she didn't sleep in a bed yet) and a high chair had had to be left behind. All the absolute essentials were tucked into the go-bag, including their passports, tickets, money and the rest.

The taxi rank followed, where Tony conversed poorly in French with the driver, handing over the piece of paper with the address of their hotel on it. Hotel first, he had decided. He didn't want to be carting that oversized suitcase around with him all day. The practicality in him won out, just this one time.

If he was going to see Ziva, he wanted to be able to hold her in his arms.

Tali had been remarkably easy-going the entire morning. But that was because he was so terrified and hopeful all at once that he felt like he was going to be sick. She just did her toddler thing, looking out the window and making general noises of amusement. She hadn't had her morning nap yet though – that didn't exactly fit into their schedule. She'd probably start to get cranky in an hour or two.

She had no way of understanding the gravity of the situation – how could she? Tony had made no promises about finding her Ima, afraid if he said it out loud, reality might somehow collapse in on itself and he would jinx everything. He wasn't a superstitious person, but he also wasn't going to take any chances. That, and he couldn't bear to break her heart if he was somehow wrong about this. Every part of him hurt when she cried for Ziva at night – the nights were especially bad. It terrified him that he would not be enough for her, and it killed him to see his little girl cry, and it made him furious at fate or the universe or whatever was in charge that she had to go through it at all.

But she was okay now. She was taking in the sights of Paris. Staring out that window at the city, she looked more like her mom than ever.

With every passing minute, Tony's stomach churned more and more, and he began to regret his food choice earlier on, wishing he'd eaten something with a little less mustard. He was practically on autopilot at this point, telling the taxi driver to please wait while they checked into the hotel and to keep the meter running, which took some time and multiple languages, but they got there eventually.

The receptionist at the hotel, a young man with impossibly blue eyes, had better English skills, and general perception of body language, apparently. He promptly and politely processed Tony's documents, handed over their room key and had a concierge take Tony's old suitcase up to their room. The clocked ticked over to eleven as Tony slammed the door to the taxi shut again, handing the driver a second piece of paper with a second address on it.

If he was right, Ziva would be waiting there for them.

He _tried_ to switch his brain off, tried to lower his expectations. He'd seen her house go up in flames. Mossad had called Vance to confirm. There was every chance that Ziva David was…gone. But every fibre of his being fought against that chance. He wanted to say he knew it in his gut, in his heart, but he didn't. He just hoped like hell. She left that message for him. This was all part of her plan. She wanted him to come and find her, like he always had.

And then what? Would she come back to the States with him? Or go somewhere else? All bets were off. They could go anywhere. Or would he have to just hand Tali over and say goodbye? Would she want to return to her old life? Would he be the dad that visits twice a year and sends a birthday present in the mail? He couldn't bear it. It hadn't taken long, but he knew now that he wouldn't be able to stand being away from Tali. Or Ziva, for that matter.

He had to stop thinking about it. He'd work himself into a state and he had other things to worry about right now. The task at hand. Finding her. He had to keep it together. Tali had already seen him cry – that was something a kid wasn't meant to see from their parents. He was supposed to be the strong one, the grown-up. He wasn't used to that.

 _"Just trying to picture you pregnant."  
"Don't."  
"I have to. I'm going to be a father. It's a very big responsibility." _

He _hated_ that he hadn't been there for her for nearly two years of her life. He hated that he hadn't tucked her in or fed her or changed her diaper for two whole years and Ziva had done it on her own for some ridiculous reason. But, maybe, it was better this way. He hadn't had time to contemplate his own possible shortcoming as a dad because he'd been thrust into the role so suddenly. There was no time to plan or strategize; he had to rely on instinct alone. And, as it turned out, his instincts were pretty good. It was like being on the job, about to run headfirst into some unknown danger – there wasn't time to be afraid, because there were more important things to be done.

And it was hard being a single parent. He didn't get as much sleep as he used to and things day to day were generally more difficult, but he wouldn't give it up, not for a day, and not for the world.

She was the one good thing to come out of this tragedy. If it turned out to have never been a tragedy at all, what would happen to her? Sure, Ziva had admitted to Abby that she loved him. But that was God knows how long ago. Things change, people change. Would she want him in her life? In Tali's life?

 _"Do you really consider me to be…in your life?"_

He couldn't go back to the way things were before. Not after all of this. He'd seen NCIS through, and it was time to pick a cup to fill, so to speak. Either way, he wouldn't go back. Truth be told, it had been a long while since he had felt truly happy with his life. Indifference had been the key emotion of the past few years. He hadn't been _un_ happy, but something hadn't been quite right. A lack of direction, perhaps? Or an empty desk across the way that should never have been empty in the first place?

 _"Content, but are you happy?"  
"Are you?"_

The taxi driver stopped the car and demanded the money he was owed. Tony complied and thanked him, his very best _merci._ He told Tali to wait as he unfolded her portable stroller, then gently eased her out of the car and into the seat. _Bag, check. Stroller, check. Tali, check. Kalev…_ he reached into the back seat for the stuffed dog just seconds before the taxi driver pulled away from the curb. He looked sternly at Tali, who looked back with a totally innocent expression, as if a total disaster hadn't just been narrowly avoided.

"You have to be careful with your things, Tali," he advised. "Or you might lose them." He put on a silly doggy voice and made Kalev 'talk' to his owner, who giggled and held out her arms to hold him. She grinned as she squeezed the proverbial life out of him. Tony took a deep breath and gripped the handles of the stroller, ready to cross the street to the café where he was supposed to be. Where she would be waiting for him.

He couldn't help it; he began surveying before they were even fully across the street. A glimpse at the dozen or so outside tables told him that Ziva was not there. The exterior wall of the café was lined with windows, where he could see more tables inside. He did a double-take at a woman with dark, curly hair, but it was not the one he wanted. None of them were.

His heart was in his throat, and each passing second made him more and more fearful. He took a seat at one of the unoccupied tables, Tali's stroller beside him, and pulled out the picture. The date was right. The time was right. The place was right.

So where was she?

Had she written the message pre-emptively, and not escaped in time? Had her plan failed somehow, and she hadn't made it out?

Tony just stared at the numbers as he had dozens of times. This…this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He felt robbed, he felt disappointed, he felt like a total idiot.

"Ima," Tali said. The side of the photograph with their faces on it was facing her.

"I know, Tali, I'm sorry," he said, gripping the edges white-knuckled and staring even harder at the numbers, just inches from his eyes, as if the sheer will and the force of his gaze might somehow make the numbers arrange themselves into something coherent. Something new. "We'll find her. I promise. We'll…"

He looked up to look at his girl, half-apologetic and half-seeking the comfort he so often found in her. But the stroller was empty. Kalev lay limply on the ground just below. Tali was gone.

Tony went into Special Agent mode almost immediately. She had been _strapped in_ for Christ's sake – how could someone have taken her without him noticing? Was one of Kort's men after her? Cleaning up the mess they missed? He stood up, eyes flying over the exterior of the café. He called her name, and a few strangers looked at him with some alarm but continued nonchalantly drinking their coffees. He scanned the street, looking for people running, getaway vehicles, anything, but there was nothing. The blood beat deafeningly in his ears and he felt sick to his stomach. If something happened to her he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He was halfway through dialling emergency services when he heard her name called from behind him. A woman's voice.

"Ima!" came the reply, distant, but most definitely her.

 _Ima._

His breath came in harsh, ragged spurts as he turned around to identify the source of the sound. He could see Tali by the entrance of the café.

In the arms of her mother.

Ziva.

Oh, she was really here.

Tali had her arms wrapped tightly around her neck, head buried in her mother's curls. Ziva placed several kisses to Tali's cheeks and stroked her hair. She looked like she was about to cry. Tony felt much the same. Tali hadn't been taken – she had _broken out of her freaking stroller_ because she saw her mom. Her mother's daughter, truly. And now that he saw them together, it was even more obvious. They looked so at home with each other. Complete.

And then Ziva opened her eyes, and suddenly she was looking right at him, and he at her, and they were seeing each other for the first time in nearly three years. He couldn't for the life of him analyse the look in her eyes. He didn't know what he looked like to her – he was far too busy reminding himself to breathe. They stood there, eyes locked, for a long time, neither sure what to say or where to even begin.

Ziva broke it first, whispering something in Tali's ear before putting her down, still holding her hand. Slowly, the little girl started leading Ziva towards him, beaming proudly up at him at her discovery. He only barely noticed. He was entranced, stunned, dizzied by her. He drank her in, all the details that he had not thought about or that had become a little fuzzy in his memory, like the crinkle by her eye as she smiled, the curve of her neck to her shoulder, and the wildness of her dark curls and chocolate eyes.

Tali stood now, for the first time in her life, between both of her parents. They occupied the same continent, breathed the same air, struggled to find the very same, very difficult words. Tali looked back and forth between them, expectantly, waiting for someone to be as excited as she was, even though the gravity of the situation would surpass her understanding for years to come.

"You found me," Ziva finally said. And God, her voice, her _voice._ The slight lilt in her accent, its smooth, warm tone, rich like honey and familiar like home. "I was not sure…"

"Don't act so surprised," he replied, and he meant it. He'd go to Mars if it meant he'd find her there. He shook his head. "You're alive."

"Don't act so surprised," she countered, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. There was a pause, a beat, and then she took a half-step towards him and threw her arms around him. It knocked the wind out of him, but he didn't care. His own arms wrapped around her torso and he buried his head into the curve her neck, breathing in her scent, her warmth. She was real. He could feel her pulse, heart thumping rapidly in her chest.

"Ziva, I…I thought…" he said softly into her hair.

"I know," she cut him off. "I'm so sorry, Tony. But it is so good to see you."

'Good' was an understatement. He felt whole. He felt safe. He felt a million different things.

"H…How? I saw…on the news…you didn't answer my calls."

"I know," she said again. "It is alright. I promise I am safe. We are all safe."

Relief, more than anything, washed over him. She felt so right in his arms. He would have been happy to stand there forever, holding her, the chilly spring breeze brushing past them and the café-goers probably staring at them and their overly emotional reunion.

They only broke apart when Tali started tugging at both of their pants legs as well as Ziva's shoulder bag, feeling apparently neglected. Even then, her eyes did not move from his. There was so much to say. She did not know where to begin. And when it was like this, she had often found the eyes to communicate what the mouth truly was incapable of communicating.

When Tali began to vocalise her thoughts about being ignored, Ziva looked down at her, and then back up at Tony, and her expression changed to one of solemnity and a lot of other emotions he wasn't quite sure of. All of a sudden it was painfully obvious that there were three of them. There had never been three of them before.

"I…I have a lot of explaining to do," she said.

He bit the inside of his cheek. His own admittedly conflicted feelings began to resurface as the joy of the moment began to dissipate. "Yeah," he answered. "You do. Not here. Can we go somewhere more private? Our hotel isn't far."

"Of course," Ziva said, nodding with understanding.

"Good. Tali's due for a nap."

She blinked in surprise at the ease of his instincts. It brought up a strange panging feeling, a mixture of elation and what she was pretty sure was guilt.

"I am sure." She picked Tali up. "She must have had a big morning."

He hailed a taxi and Ziva lifted Tali into it and buckled her in while Tony rescued Kalev for the second time that day and folded the stroller up and stashed it in the taxi's trunk. Ziva slid in beside her, and Tony sat on her other side. The scene was remarkably domestic. He gave the address and the driver pulled out into the Parisian traffic.

Then there was silence. He was kind of captivated by her. Living, breathing _her._ Tali was snuggled under Ziva's arm and Ziva stroked her curls in the most instinctual, calming way.

"Were you brave on the big airplane, tateleh?" Ziva tickled under her chin affectionately. Tali giggled.

"She got quite a kick out of it," Tony answered on his daughter's behalf. "Quite the little thrill-seeker."

"I am sure she is genetically programmed for it," Ziva said with a smile at him. It was a throwaway comment, but its undertones were deafening: Tali was _their_ daughter.

 _"Evidently, we have a daughter. Me and Ziva."_

He had said it himself but the gravity of the situation was settling itself anew upon him, as it did most mornings when he woke up to answer her cries, in those few seconds before reality sank in and Ziva was alive and this was not his life. Except this was his life and Ziva actually _was_ alive, and he was questioning just what it was that he knew to be true.

"When's her birthday?" Tony asked. He had the sudden urge to know. Tali's birth certificate 'hadn't survived the fire'. He suspected Ziva probably had it.

"July twelfth," Ziva answered.

"A Cancer, huh?" he replied. "Okay, what about…first steps? First tooth? Oh, I know – first word?" He couldn't help himself. He wanted to know Tali. Her whole story. The story he'd been excluded from. With every passing moment it was more painfully obvious, with the way she snuggled so calmly and sleepily against her mother.

Ziva exhaled. "You have the picture? The one from the frame?" He pulled it out of his pocket and showed her. "I showed her that picture from a very young age, around the time I began reading to her. I would point and say the words and then eventually she started saying them back. It is hard to distinguish the sounds from actual words, but 'Ima' and 'Abba' are the first words that ever came out of her mouth."

"Mom and dad," he said softly, his gaze shifting from their faces in the picture to her face now. She had cut her hair since then, he noticed, left it curly. Her eyes met his, and suddenly the tension in the tiny space of the back of the taxi felt thick. Because really, no matter how much Tali said it, they were not 'mom and dad' in any true sense of the phrase. And Ziva had to know that. And she had to know how wrong that was.

She didn't speak for a long moment, eventually choking out his name and biting her lip uncertainly. The driver of the taxi cut her off in French with a declaration of arrival and the price of the fare. They paid, got out, collected their things and entered the hotel in silence, Tali's head lolling against Ziva's shoulder as she carried her.

Their slow ascent in the elevator was agonizing. Tony was so confused. This is what he had hoped and prayed for – to find her, for her to be okay, and yet he felt so suddenly awash with emotion. He was not sure what would happen once the door of the hotel room separated them from the world. His numbered key opened the lock and, he was sure, many other things along with it.

Tony led Ziva to the second bedroom, the smaller of the two, opening the door for her and pulling back the covers while Ziva lay a nearly asleep Tali on the bed and removed her shoes and socks. He stepped gingerly aside while Ziva tucked her in, smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek.

"It's not goodbye, you know," he whispered. "She'll be up in an hour or so."

"I know," Ziva replied, not taking her eyes off Tali. "But I just got her back. I do not wish to be apart from her. Not for long."

"How'd you do it?"

"Fake my death? It was not my first time. I was as done with Mossad as I had been before I went back to Israel, but a contact—a friend—informed me that NCIS were conducting an investigation that might get back to me. Once Trent Kort's name came up I became concerned for our safety, mine and Tali's. I thought I was just being paranoid, but evidently my instincts remain intact. Neither of us were in the house when it went up in flames – I was already underground with an alias provided by Orli. Before I left, I instructed Tali to be sent to you. And I left the message on the back of the photograph."

"What if I hadn't found you? What if I didn't see the message?"

She turned around to look right at him. "That thought did not cross my mind. If there is one thing I can count on you for it is to come looking for me, especially when everyone else has given up hope. But, to answer your question, once I knew Trent Kort was dead and Tali was no longer in danger, I would have reached out to you."

"So what now? Are you safe?"

"If I wasn't, I would not be here." She fixed the covers just right one more time and then, reluctantly, stood to leave. "Kort is dead, yes?"

"Very," Tony assured her.

"The threat on my life is no longer a threat. I can go back to being Ziva."

She headed for the door, leaving Tony wondering just who 'Ziva' was, and what that meant, exactly. He didn't move, just watched his little girl's tiny chest move up and down steadily in her sleep. He reached for Kalev from the bag and placed him under the covers below Tali's chin.

Sensing he was not following her, Ziva turned around at the doorway and watched him watching his daughter. _Their_ daughter. The years since they had seen each other be damned; that softness around his mouth and the sparkle in his eyes – she knew that meant he was in love.

Which meant it would only hurt more that Tali had been kept from him all her life. Still, Ziva couldn't help but smile. The scene was like something out of a fantasy. Despite the circumstances, despite everything, it gave her butterflies to see him like this, like the father she had so often imagined he would be.

Tony left Tali sleeping and headed for the door, where she was leaning against the doorframe, fingers hovering by the light switch. She flicked it off just as he stepped close enough to her that she could feel his body heat and smell his cologne. They faced each other, his right shoulder nearly brushing up against hers. She caught his eyes, and suddenly it was ten years ago and there was this magnetism between them that was undeniable but incomprehensible. Only now his gaze, those emerald eyes that said so much with no words at all, was heavier than ever.

"You are good with her," Ziva said tentatively, but trying to sound like she wasn't.

"Yeah, well, she's pretty special," Tony replied. "I didn't think…didn't _understand…_ I…"

"You did not understand you could love a person that much," she finished for him, eyes flicking from Tali back to him. "More than yourself. You would do anything to keep them safe."

Tony was taken aback. He hadn't been able to put it in those words, those very strong words, but now that she said them, he realised they were true. He did love Tali. He would do anything to keep her safe. "Yeah. Exactly."

"Then you understand why I did what I did." That had been a dangerous move, but dancing around the edges was agonising, especially when she was pretty sure she was about to be on the receiving end of Tony's justified anger, and soon.

His gaze hardened, and immediately, even in the mostly-darkness, she could see she had pushed a button. Or a dozen. "Which part? Faking your own death and sending our daughter overnight express? Or the part where you just lied about her existence for the last two years?"

"Tony…"

Tony pushed past her before their voices woke Tali up. Ziva closed the door behind them, swallowing hard. When she looked over at him he was halfway across the living area, pacing.

"What the _hell,_ Ziva." His voice was stern, full of hurt. Hurt that she had caused. It had been pent up just below the surface and she had opened his wounds.

"Tony, listen to me," she pleaded, moving closer to him and gripping him by the forearms. "I didn't want it to be like this. I should have told you, I know that, but I…I did not know what to say, let alone how to say it."

"So you decided to say nothing?"

"I was waiting for the right time," she insisted, wringing her hands like she often did when she was nervous or stressed. "As Tali got older I knew I had made the wrong decision keeping her from you. That is why I made sure she knew who you were."

"But couldn't grant me the same courtesy?"

"After the way we had left things?" she snapped back. "You were moving on, Tony. You were going back to the job you loved and the life you had built for yourself. I knew you did not _want_ a child, especially not an unexpected one. With your co-worker, no less."

"Ziva, you know goddamn well that you're more than a co-worker to me," he said fiercely.

"You're right. I do know that. And I also know that if I had told you about Tali you would have given up everything out of honour, because you would have been determined to be a better father than yours was."

That was a low blow, she knew. But it was the truth.

"That's not fair," he protested. "You don't get to make that decision for me. Tali is just as much my child as she is yours. Only I wasn't there for her birth, or for her first words, her first steps, _anything,_ because I didn't have a choice."

"I was perfectly fine raising Tali on my own! And yes, I regretted not telling you. I already said that. I am sorry, Tony, that I hurt you. But contrary to your most persistent belief, the decision was not wholly about you."

He shut up at that. He hadn't really considered her motivations for keeping Tali a secret beyond those concerning his potential reactions. But there was more to the story – there always was, with her.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, preparing to say a lot of words that she had never said to anybody before. She sank back into the powder-blue hotel room sofa.

"After my father died, I was in a very, very dark place. A path to vengeance, to violence. I feel like those few short months following his death…they were my undoing. I was paranoid, I was _furious,_ and I was terrified. So I ran. I hid. I threw away the life I had worked so hard to create for myself. My instincts took over – my Mossad instincts. And suddenly I felt myself becoming that person again – the assassin, the killer, the person who did so many terrible things. All my hard work towards the greater good, the person I had become at NCIS, faded and faded, and I began to lose sight of myself and what was important." She looked back up at him. "That was about when you found me. And I was so caught up in myself that I did not see that my family, my real family, was right in front of me."

 _"Ziva was my family."_

"I felt I had to rebuild myself from the ground up," she continued. "And then, maybe, _maybe_ I could come home and be the person I thought was worthy of you all."

"Ziva…" He crossed the room to her, sitting beside her, his anger rapidly dissipating.

"It's okay," she said, with a miniscule shake of her head. "That last day, before you got on the plane, you almost had me. It was the first time in months that I had felt… _safe._ " The final word came out as barely a whisper as her eyes began glistening with tears. "Loved."

He just wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss the tears from her cheeks and stroke her hair until she fell asleep beside him. _God,_ he loved her. He had missed her.

"I was alone and I was in pieces, and I convinced myself that those two things were a healthy combination. And then Tali came along, and I was no longer alone. I had a purpose, I was a mother, I was—"

"Somebody's everything," he finished for her, echoing the words he had spoken to Gibbs. It made sense, what she was saying, in its own twisted way.

Ziva glanced over her shoulder at the door to the room where Tali was asleep. "I began feeling like I had worth. I began to like who I was, to believe that I was a good person. A redeemable person. Looking back on it, it is not so much that I changed, but that my perception of reality was altered. I did not have time to wallow in my own sadness because there was this…perfect little girl who depended on me for everything, and together, we could get through. She made me see the world differently. I began to feel like myself again. And I know it is not the burden a child should have on their shoulders, but she saved me. She made me a better person." Her smile was full of tears. "I suspect she gets it from her Abba."

Tony had been close to tears himself, but that final remark pretty much sealed the deal. Tentatively, he reached over and took her hand. She gripped firmly, fingers interlaced.

"She saved me too," he choked out. "I thought you were gone, and I nearly lost my mind but she—I don't know what I would do without her," he confessed.

Ziva's throat tightened. If she was honest, and she promised herself she would be, she had not fairly considered Tony's position in this plan. She knew that he would come looking for her, but had not fully thought about the anguish it would put him through – _again._

"I am so sorry, Tony. For everything. To keep her from you was a selfish choice, but if I am honest, I would probably do it again, if given the chance. I was broken, and I was alone, and she was my light. She still is." She paused, trying to let everything she had said settle. "Do you understand?"

"I think so," he responded honestly.

"I did not like who I was," she continued. "But I adored you, Tony. I wanted you to be able to go back to America and have the family that you deserved. White picket fence and all, like in one of your movies. I wanted you to have the happy ending and I was so sure that it was not with me." He almost laughed aloud. She could not know how wrong she was about that. "With Tali and I out of the picture, I hoped you would be free to…to move on with your life."

"Move on?" he asked, his voice low and quiet. His eyes were sparkling, the tension around his mouth fading and giving way to a soft smile. "Come on, Ziva. There was never any moving on from you."

Not breaking eye contact, not for a fraction of a second, she unclasped her hand from his and placed a palm against his cheek, and then the other. This man, this beautiful man, had pulled her back from the abyss more times than he knew, and had found her when she was lost time and time again. This man, whose eyes she saw in her daughter's every time she looked at her. This man whom she _loved_.

In a lot of ways, this loaded gaze was so familiar; they had seen it so many times before. But this time, they had a daughter to think of. They were standing on the same edge they had stood on for years, ready to fall or be pushed, but the stakes were so much higher this time. It was one thing throwing their own hearts around carelessly, but with Tali caught in the middle, they were suddenly playing a very different game.

She could feel him breathing, his pulse beating beneath her fingers.

 _All bets are off._

Then, without warning, Ziva closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. It was gentle, soft, slow, but only for a moment. Her fingers combed through his hair, his skin hot beneath her touch. Tony's hands settled at her waist, pulling her as close as she could get, as if she might slip through his fingers like sand at any second. She supposed he had felt like that a lot in all the years they had known each other. He kissed her with fear, with relief, with joy and with sadness, and every other emotion that he had felt as a consequence of her. She felt all of it radiating from him, her heart calling out to his.

He broke away, just enough to breathe, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I thought I lost you, Ziva," he whispered, his breath tickling her chin and her neck.

"I know," she mumbled against his lips, fingers still tangled in his hair.

"No. You don't. You can't possibly know. Leaving you in Israel _was_ the hardest one-eighty of my life, but that? It was so much worse, because I was just… _stuck_. Thinking I could have done something, thinking you were gone, without me ever telling you…telling you how I f—"

She cut off his words with her lips. "Please, Tony," she said between kisses. "Do not blame yourself. I broke your heart over and over and I hope you can forgive me for it." Her fingers came up to lift his chin, and she moved back so that she could look in his eyes again. Hers were teary, his glassy. "You never stopped fighting for me, Tony DiNozzo. And I love you for it."

He released a breath he did not realise he had been holding. To hear the words come out of his mouth made his mission all the more worthwhile. Hell, it made _living_ all the more worthwhile. To know Ziva was to endure the most exquisite heartbreak that there is – the pain is crushing but the happiness? It was worth every tear, every stitch, every mile that separated them for every minute they had been separated.

"Ziva, you are…" _What? Irreplaceable? Incredible?_ He laughed softly. "I'm so in love with you, Ziva." He kissed her again, and she laughed into his mouth, through her tears. God, they were a mess. A romantically dysfunctional, scary, perfect mess.

She was still smiling and crying when she pulled away, taking his hand and standing and guiding him across the hotel room. The proverbial edge neared with every step, but for the first time ever, neither Ziva nor Tony was scared of it.

"What now?" he asked, meaning both this very second and when they eventually left the safety of their room.

"Now," she answered, "we fall."

She led him by the hand to the second bedroom, slowly and carefully, kind of like walking through a minefield. The last time they had been together like this, he had gotten on a plane shortly after and flown an ocean away. Tony did not know where he would be going to, but he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere without her. Right now, in this moment, with her big brown eyes staring up at him and his heart thudding loudly in his chest, that was plenty.

They did what they had always done best: they healed each other. His lips traversed every inch of her body – the junction between her neck and shoulder, her collarbones, the curves of each breast and the small swell of her belly. Her hands explored the vast expanse of his chest and the well-formed muscles in his arms and down his back. Her touch set his skin alight, her moans were like music. They came undone, and simultaneously, intertwined in each other. The universe set itself back on its axis, or so it seemed in that little room in that special city, to those two broken pieces of people that fit together so beautifully.

The afternoon sun poured in through the window as they lay there, a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets. Her curls were sprawled across his bare chest, the sweet smell of her shampoo lingering and mixing with the scent that was so uniquely _Ziva_. His hand lazily traced shapes on her back.

"I think it is safe to tell Gibbs that rule number twelve has been sufficiently broken," Ziva said, a cheeky smile on her face, the first one he had seen in forever.

"Okay, _first,_ " he started, lifting a finger to count his points emphatically, feigning irritation. "I just blew your mind, and you're thinking about _Gibbs?"_

She snorted and playfully slapped his chest.

"Second, I'm not sure that many years of pining followed by a torrid one night love affair followed by a surprise child counts as _dating._ You know, it usually constitutes things like, well, _dates._ And third, I no longer answer to Gibbs – I quit my job."

She sat bolt upright in surprise. "You…what?"

"Yeah," he answered, groaning as he pushed himself upright as well. "Tali already lost one parent – she didn't need to lose another in the line of fire."

"And now? That we are both here for her?"

"I hadn't really thought past Paris, Ziva. But no, I don't think so."

"You would just…walk away from NCIS?" She turned on her side to face him a little better.

"Done it before. It was time for a change. I think it had been a long time coming, honestly. I wanted something more, something a million hours a week at the navy yard just wasn't giving me. And Tali, well, Tali was that something."

Ziva smiled, her heart warmed. Though, she thought inwardly, she had been right – had he known about her from the beginning, he _would_ have dropped everything for them. The only difference was that this time around, Ziva believed it might actually be the right thing.

"What will you do?" Ziva asked.

"I can bag groceries for all I care," he said with a smile. "As long as you're with me."

Ziva swallowed. "Tali needs her father," she admitted.

"And you?"

She leaned forward and kissed him without hesitation, and he lifted a hand up to brush her curls from her face. Her mouth was soft and warm and sweet.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked when he pulled back from her. "We are a team, Tony. We work best when we are together." She squeezed his hand in hers. He squeezed back.

"Speaking of the team – what are you gonna tell 'em?" he asked, settling once again onto his back, their intertwined hands resting on his stomach.

"I have no idea," she answered quietly, following his lead and laying down beside him again. "That I am sorry, for everything. That they are family. That I want them in Tali's life too."

"So you definitely want to go back to America?"

She nodded against his chest. "I am an American citizen – I fought for it. I have made my peace with Israel. There is nothing there for me now. There has not been for a long while."

Tony could hardly articulate his relief. She was okay, she was ready to get out of that place and leave all the scars and the hurting behind.

"I guess I'll put my apartment up for sale when we get back. Ziva, are you sure this will work?"

She looked up at him, all eyes and curls. "We can only try our best, Tony. We have survived harder things."

Oh, how he loved her brave soul and her kind heart, persistent despite the objective cruelty of fate. Of course, he couldn't tell her that, so he made a joke.

"You're right. Raising Tali barely makes the top five."

She laughed, and it made his heart soar. And right on cue (just like her mom), there were cries from the next room. With a hint of reluctance, Ziva sat up, swung her feet over the edge of the bed and started collecting and putting on her clothes. He watched her admiringly as she shimmied into her jeans and blouse, but then quickly followed suit and started pulling on his clothes.

"It's okay, Tony, I've got her," Ziva said standing in the doorway and holding back a laugh as he stumbled trying to pull on his pants.

"Oh no," he argued. "I've got her. Your French is better than mine." He passed by her on his way out the door.

She was perplexed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

In one smooth motion, he turned, pulled his phone out of his pocked and tossed it to her. She caught it.

"You've gotta order the pizza!"

Ziva rolled her eyes but smiled, following him into Tali's room. The little girl was fussing, ready to get up.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said, lifting her from the bed and into his arms. Her cries quietened as the comfort and warmth of her father soothed her. "Abba's here, and so is Ima. And we're gonna be together always now, okay?" Tony looked across the room at Ziva and smiled, eyes sparkling. "'Cause the thing is, Tali, sometimes people come into your life and surprise you. And you run around chasing bad guys for eight years and somewhere along the line, you fall in love. And you don't know how it happens, but it does. When you're together, the world just seems to _work,_ you know? Well, you don't know, but you will. And when you're not together, you find that you just can't live without 'em."

 _"Couldn't live without you, I guess."_

Tali looked up at her dad, all doe-eyed and curious and perfect.

"And then somebody like you comes along and changes the game. I promise I'm gonna be there every step of the way, okay? First day of school, prom, graduation…everything. You're stuck with me, kid, for better or for worse."

"I can think of worse punishments," Ziva joked, gesturing for him to hand over Tali. "She needs a diaper change, DiNozzo," she warned when he hesitated.

"Hey, if you're volunteering," he replied, and handed Tali over to her mom. And this was his life now. And he loved that it was his life. And he loved that little girl, and the woman, the divinely imperfect woman whose grip on his heart would never loosen.

And he felt right. They would be alright. He could feel it.

 _"Do you ever think about soulmates?"_

This was where he was _meant_ to be—with them—he knew it. He had just gotten there the long way round.


End file.
